


the other end of the phone is dead

by tenecty



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, based on recent events; ;), i love them too much so, love them please, nobody asked but anyway, stream regular yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 01:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16253846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenecty/pseuds/tenecty
Summary: There was only a hollow silence, a growing anxiety, trembling lips, unsounded sobs. The other end of the phone stayed dead.





	the other end of the phone is dead

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall!!!! just a quick drabble because i miss taeten so much. 
> 
> i'm incredibly proud of nct 127!!!!! regular is so good yall GO STREAM GO STREAM I DONT CARE GO AND STREAM WE CAN'T LET THESE TALENTED, HARDWORKING BOYS FLOP YALL 
> 
> also, if you guys haven't checked my ongoing fic (lol i just started it) called: Hiraeth, please do and tell me what you think! updates every friday! 
> 
>  
> 
> *cross posted on tumblr: @tenecity (i dont know how to link i hate myself jadkjhalsjdh)

“Hyung!” Chenle calls, scrambling into Ten’s room, rushing up to him and collapsing onto the bed, whipping out his phone. “Watch.” 

 

Ten narrows his eyes in slight annoyance and adoration, but the short clip soon changed those feelings into near wild panic, heart caught in his throat, his breathing getting slightly uneven, hands trembling slightly. 

 

“I hope hyung’s okay. Looks like a really bad fall, right? Hyung? Hyung!” Chenle comments as soon as the video ends, waving his hands in front of Ten’s face. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Ten chokes out, barely a whisper. Chenle gets the hint and starts to exit the room, but cautiously reminds him, “Hyung, they only get their phones back in 2 hours. Maybe….wait until then?” 

 

Ten merely nods his head, eyes lost and a little empty. 

 

To say the fall was bad was an understatement. Taeyong fell twice; those stupid leather shoes and slippery floors that weren’t prepared for the hard footwork. Taeyong fell hard, hitting his head, but the boy didn’t lose his composure at all, remaining professional at all times, the killer look still on his face. 

 

Ten prays for the first time in years, hoping that the other is alright. 

 

His throat tightens as realisation dawns upon him. This is more than just a fall. He knows, to the perfectionist, this would be called a  _ failure _ . 

 

And Ten knows, Taeyong would blame himself over and over again, in his mind, never speaking about his troubles. It’s their first performance, and he, the leader, the face of the group screwed up? Taeyong wouldn’t tolerate such a mistake. 

 

Ten wrings his hands in anxiety, staring at the clock, willing it to move faster. He needs to make sure Taeyong’s okay. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Finally, he could grab his phone, and immediately dialled the number. It was late in America, 11pm, 12am, maybe? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t  _ care _ . He needs to hear Taeyong, and tell him everything’s okay, he doesn’t need to feel guilty, he doesn’t need to blame himself. Everyone makes mistakes. It was  _ okay. _

 

It rings a couple of times, and it feels endless, his heart pounding with each ring. 

 

Finally, finally, someone picks up. 

 

“Hyung?” 

 

There wasn’t a reply. 

 

“Hyung? Taeyong hyung? Yongie?” Ten says softer each time, his words treading carefully around a wounded heart. 

  
  


Taeyong takes a deep breath. Okay, he can do this. He can talk to Ten without breaking down. Definitely. He must. He can’t breakdown now. The team are literally at the most crucial turning point of their careers. If their leader breaks down, this could lead to disaster. So he held his tears, whether from the fall or from his guilt, he doesn’t know, for the rest of the day. Had a calm debrief with the members, kept a cool composure when their manager chastised him, listened with poised acceptance as he heard the stern words from his CEO. 

 

None of those sharp words, or screams from the audience, or concerned looks from his teammates broke him. He thought he’d done well, masking his true emotions behind his cold facade. 

 

But it is just something, about Ten’s soft, melodious, smooth, slightly dimmed voice, that ticks him off, and his throat tightens, his heart stops, his head starts to ache; and his heart, almost as if stabbed, like a dagger twisted in bloody flesh. 

 

“Hyung?” The voice is so soft, so soothing, Taeyong almost bursts into tears. 

 

He swallows hard and clears his throat. “Ten. Tennie.” Taeyong whispers, and he hates how his voice is laced with sadness, guilt, everything he knows Ten would hate. 

  
  
  


There was only a hollow silence, a growing anxiety, trembling lips, unsounded sobs. Ten can just feel Taeyong’s heartbreaking, his resolve breaking, the voice in his head telling him he’s not good enough. Ten holds back his own tears as his heart shatters for the other. 

 

“I…Do you want to talk about it?” 

 

They didn’t need to explicitly state what they were talking about; at same wavelengths and always on the same page, they always knew exactly what the other was talking about. 

 

“No.” Ten could hear some rustling in the background. 

 

“Okay. That’s fine. Um...you going to bed soon?” Ten asks, chewing on his lips as he lies on his bed too, a sudden coldness and longing overwhelming him. 

 

“Yea,” was the low reply. 

 

“Okay. Er….Chenle nearly burned the house down today.” Ten starts lightly, and he smiles as he hears a chuckle from the other end of the phone. “What?” 

 

“Yea. Those two, Chenle and Jisung, and  _ Lucas _ , god, Kun nearly passed out when he saw smoke coming out from the kitchen.” Ten giggles as he says this, remembering the scene very clearly. The two younger ones had swore they were just helping out, and unanimously pushed the blame to the poor, helpless Lucas. 

  
  
  


Taeyong listens to Ten’s voice, allowing the words to wash over him, the mellow voice so soft and gentle, so calming and soothing, like crashing of turquoise, clear waves on shores. This, was the voice he fell in love with, the voice that calmed him when he panicked or was stressed out, the voice muffled when Ten whispers into Taeyong’s hair during late nights. 

 

Taeyong can almost  _ feel _ Ten’s lips in his hair, against his forehead, on his cheek, a chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. Longing fills him, and he speaks without much thinking, “I miss you.” 

 

It was unfair. He doesn’t have anything against Jungwoo, no, that boy’s an angel, the only sane one around, perhaps (besides the fact that he is a chaotic gay, but anyway).

 

He just wished Ten joined NCT 127 too. He would have felt so much safer, knowing that his support was there all the time, someone he could lean on when the burden and cares of 18 people were too much to bear. Someone to tangle limbs with in the dead of the night, or in the early mornings; someone to kiss and have lazy times with; someone who could just listen to classical music with him, no words needed. 

  
  
  


Ten’s breath hitches in his throat, and he stutters. He sighs, and runs his fingers through his tousled hair, sudden heaviness taking over his body. 

 

“I miss you too.” 

 

“Yeah.” Taeyong breaths out into the phone, and Ten really, really longs to give the other a long hug, arms snaking around the other’s waist, Taeyong’s hair buried into his neck, small kisses pressed on the cheek, lips tracing the jawline, light bites on the pale neck; an overdrive into pleasure, something that could make Taeyong forget those voices in his head that constantly chide him, telling him that he’s worthless. 

 

“When you come back, I’m going to spoil you.” Ten mumbles as he listens to the other’s breathing getting steadier and steadier. He is met with silence again. 

 

“Hyung? You there?”

 

“Mmhmm, sounds good.” He can hear slumber interlacing with Taeyong’s words, and Ten smiles at the appealing, sleepy tone. 

 

“You’re so cute.” 

 

He can feel Taeyong smiling. 

 

A beat later, Taeyong spills words that he says only when he is really tired, when he is raw with emotion, when his walls are down. Words, he means sincerely, every single time, but never always has the courage to utter. 

 

“I love you, Tennie.” 

 

“I love you too. Night, baby.” 

 

“Night Tennie. I love you.” 

 

A small smile finds its way onto Ten’s face and his heart is filled with warmth, exploding with little sparks of love. 

 

The other end of the phone is dead now, soft snores sounding through. Ten ends the call, not wanting the phone bill to skyrocket. 

 

He closes his eyes, lips pursed, sweetness on his lips, warmth in his heart; and he dreams, _a dream in a dream_ , him and Taeyong, love overflowing. 


End file.
